


Strong Forces

by Monibot



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, POV First Person, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29391318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monibot/pseuds/Monibot
Summary: It was intoxicating, in a way I don’t think anyone but you might appreciate, to finally meet my equal on the battlefield: a place where we could push ourselves to the very limits of our skill. (You always do bring out the best in me.) The hot slice of your blade through my armor— right above my heart, how romantic— and your imitation of my own taunt made me realize: you were enjoying it too.orThe events of season 3 and immediately after, as told by Amaya.
Relationships: Amaya/Janai (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37





	Strong Forces

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd. 
> 
> Happy Lunar New Year, y'all!

The first time I saw you, my love, I wanted to kill you. 

That’s not a hyperbole. 

I truly, sincerely wanted to kill you. You understand, now, that I was having a really, _really_ bad week. I was stuck at the border, sweating my ass off, and hundreds of miles from anyone I cared about (sorry, Lieutenant Fen). My thoughts churned endlessly on the fates of both my kidnapped nephews and my home kingdom. I hadn’t heard any news of either and foolishly set out on patrol alone to clear my head. If my soldiers had concerns, they were smart enough to keep it to themselves. 

Imagine my delight at finding the perfect outlet for my frustration. 

I bested your first three warriors with ease and promptly erased them from memory (dwelling on the casualties of war is how you get killed), but long after I’d fled, I couldn’t shake the afterimage of your eyes. They were so full of loathing and burned brighter than the sword in your hand, as if you could reduce me to ash with a look alone. I like to imagine mine mirrored the same sentiment as I bared my teeth and charged you. 

I think I may have loved you, a little, then. 

At the very least, I loved the way you sent my heart racing. Fear and pleasure were almost inseparable when we fought. Compared to everything else on my mind, you presented the kind of problem I knew how to solve. I’ve since learned that nothing between us has ever been so simple. 

The next time I saw you, when you had cleverly ambushed my men and me, I couldn’t help but tease you— you’re not the first person to fall for a crooked finger and a cocky smirk— in an attempt to whet the fine edge of your anger. In retrospect, it was reckless, but I wanted you at your best or not at all. For lack of a better phrase, I always did like to play with fire. 

It thrilled me, in a way I don’t think anyone but you might appreciate, to finally meet my equal on the battlefield: a place where we could push ourselves to the very limits of our skill. (You always do bring out the best in me.) The hot slice of your blade through my armor— right above my heart, how romantic— and your imitation of my own taunt made me realize: you were enjoying it too. 

When I saw the lines of your heat-being unfold across your skin for the first time, I felt a different kind of heat spreading through me. I should have been terrified. I _was_ terrified. But, I was also intrigued. Excited. 

I was sorry to leave you, especially when you looked so endearing with your fist stuck in several inches of stone, but I had to ensure the safety of my men and your lava armor was a clear message to get the hell away while we could. I did look back once, just to make sure you weren’t following. I didn’t see you but I was certain that we would meet again. Strong forces have a way of coming together, usually to their mutually assured destruction. 

Either way, there would be fireworks. 

I think you know what happened next: a little interrogating, a little flirting, and a lot of almost-dying. Despite it all, we kept moving forward and, if it’s not too presumptuous, growing closer. 

Call it a character flaw, but I tend to listen to my gut when it comes to who I can trust. And I’d already decided, from the moment I grasped your arm and hauled you to safety, to trust you. But I also sensed that your trust would be harder to earn than mine, that I could only press on an unyielding thing so hard before it snapped. 

Considering everything that had happened, I thought I was doing an average-to-good job taking things slow. But when you’re faced with certain death every other day, it’s hard to leave feelings unsaid or attractive elves un-flirted with. In the most loving way possible, “she is my prisoner” might be the most hilarious thing you’ve ever said. You’re not a good liar, dear one, and even if you were, the blush in your cheeks betrayed you. 

I couldn’t stop myself from flirting in return any more than I could stop the armies marching upon the Spire. If I was going to die to that asshole Viren, of all people, then I was going to make you smile (or roll your eyes, I wasn’t picky) as many times as humanly possible in what remained of my presumably short life. It’s important to find moments of joy when faced with losing everything and everyone you care about. 

I’m just as surprised as you that we survived that day. 

Despite my outward cheer, killing waves of soldiers-turned-lava-monsters that I had personally trained was not, in any sense, a cause for celebration. When the magic drained from their lifeless forms and I saw them as I had known them… Well, the victory was bittersweet, to say the least. (I’ve found that most are.) 

I suspect you were feeling the same, given how recently and violently you’d experienced your own loss. I remember how your jaw was a rigid line as you gazed upon the dragon queen in her chamber and your arms were crossed tight— as if you could hold in the entirety of your grief through sheer willpower alone. I knew the feeling. 

I’m sorry to say that my gesture was more ‘fuck it’ and less ‘playfully charming’ than it might have appeared in the moment. (Okay, _maybe_ I was a little jealous of Callum and his elf girlfriend too.) Still, your hand in mine felt _right_ , even if your palm was chafing against my still-healing burn. When you smiled back at me, I decided: perhaps this once, I was allowed to want something just for myself. 

I’m sure the dragon queen was very impressed by our motley crew of hand-holding elves and humans and glowtoads, but I was skeptical that ending thousands of years of war would ever be easy. Nobody wanted to talk about the ‘what comes now,’ though, and suddenly, we were all going our separate ways for the night. 

I made sure my nephews were settled before I allowed myself to come undone. 

The ugly truth is: warriors like us thrive in chaos and conflict. These things are familiar, like the balance of a sword, and more often than not, we’re better at responding than sitting around and waiting. Slowing down is always the hardest part. And the most painful. 

As much as I pride myself on being able to adapt quickly, even I have my limits. Too much had happened in the last few weeks, and too fast. Trying to wrap my head around it all, finally having a quiet moment to myself, left me more than a little on edge. 

That’s the sort of mood I was in when you found me on one of the Spire’s open platforms, drinking in the frigid night air like it was in short supply. 

It’s why I didn’t see you and also why, to my great embarrassment, I jumped when you appeared at my elbow with your hand outstretched. Some purely instinctive part of my brain saw pointed ears and horns and before I knew it, my arm was pressed against your throat and you were pressed against the nearest wall. 

Your eyes went wide and I withdrew in horror even as I became aware of how close we were. All sorts of unhelpful thoughts formed in my mind as you rubbed your neck and glared at me. It was nothing short of a miracle that you didn’t forcibly toss me off the Spire right then and there. I probably deserved it. 

_‘Don’t sneak up on me,’_ I signed, like an idiot, forgetting that you didn’t know the least bit of KSL. 

Understandably, you misinterpreted my signs and spat back, “I was trying to kiss you, you impossible woman!” 

_Oh._

I’ve been in hundreds of fights and I’ve never frozen like I did then. My thoughts ground to a halt. I must have stared for a second too long because you threw up your hands in exasperation and said something I didn’t catch. You’ve never told me, even after all this time. I suppose it isn’t important. 

What _is_ important is that I grabbed your wrist to stop you as you made to leave. You whirled on me and for a single, heart-stopping moment I saw that same fury and passion from our encounter at the breach. Those same eyes. 

In that instant I knew I was compromised, that the weakness in my knees wasn’t simply battle fatigue or a fleeting infatuation. I had given some part of myself to you, and would take whatever you saw fit to give in return. If you had willed it, I would have taken your flaming sword to my breast and held it there like a gift until it consumed me. 

You’ll recall that I mentioned strong forces have a way of coming together. When I tugged you closer and our lips finally met, I had no way of knowing if we were destined for destruction or something greater. 

But, there were fireworks.

**Author's Note:**

> Would they celebrate Lunar New Year in Katolis? Or would that be too closely associated to like... Moonshadow elves? 
> 
> I've been playing around with both characterization and different writing styles while I wait for my beta readers to finish on my Big Fic™. I don't write a lot of first person, so I'm pretty happy with how this turned out. As much as I like soft Amaya, I also wanted to try pushing her in a different direction: sassy, crass, and very tired of everyone's bullshit. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and as always, I'm open to feedback!


End file.
